Urban Poetry Poets: Ben Scotcher Lane

Ben was last heard of - heading off for America......

 

Poems:

 

Making love to cyborgs and why i hate cum shot girls
The man in the chair opposite me is on fire.
 
 He’s staring into the back of my head with his scorched irises, not blinking, not moving.
 
 This is unnerving.
 
Why isn’t he doing something? Why isn’t he saying anything?
 
His head is nestled forward very slightly, enough for him to be looking up to look at me. I can see the flames searching for the exit behind his eyes, like trapped animals writhing to escape their captor.
 
Each lick of the orange element defying gravity to smother his skin  I feel against my own.
 
Each agonising second I watch his face turn to charcoal and beyond is a triumph from the last.
 
“This is it” he says. “This is what you wanted to see “
 
His lips don’t move.
 
His eyes don’t wander
 
I’ve been looking at this man for a long time now.
 
Each time I look back at him, I can’t help but think the fire should have consumed him; the death of this seated stranger should have come an age before.
 
Why hasn’t he run? Why does he not help himself?
 
“This is what I am” he says. “This is what we are”
 
I ask him why he stays, why he endures the torment.
 
“You tell me” he says. “You’re the one just sat there”
 
 
The Unfortunate Tale of the Clockwork Boy (or how to break a robots heart)
There’s a sad clockwork boy, with a box full of parts. Some for his head, some for his heart.
 
When he looks at the box, all the pieces seem lost. One piece at a time, as this was the cost
 
For loving her dearly, never questioning why. Like the motion of water, or the blue in the sky.
 
“We’ll spend forever together, I promise you this” she’d whispered so clearly, and sealed with a kiss.
 
But something she’d hidden and had never told, with each piece of his heart, the boy would grow cold.
 
With each passing of time, the more she would take. Till hollow and numb, the boys heart it did break.
 
“Look what you’ve done” the boy said to the girl, his eyes stinging with tears, his lips starting to curl.
 
She threw back her hair, a smile starting to break. “What good are you now I’ve got nothing to take?”
 
“Together forever, you promised me that”. Tears falling like oceans, on the floor he now sat.
 
Her hand opened up, the bits feel to the ground. The shattered pieces of heart made a dull metal sound.
 
As she walked away poised, he struggled to find, in the salt watered dust, the bits left behind.
 
So now, dearest reader, that’s why this tale starts, with a sad clockwork boy, with a box full of parts
 
Save me a branch when the flood comes, i'll be back soon with the rope
 
Where have you been little boy?
 
“Looking for dead bodies”.
 
This veil is lifted. The adventure stopped being fun. In the river, the green fades to grey in the middle, we walked always looking in, looking for those looking out. Their beautiful crystallised orbs never to bleed clear blood, never to plead for mercy again.
 
Where did you go little boy?
 
“I wanted to find buried treasure”
 
Deep in the forest we looked, all day till the dusk came crushing down from the blue ocean above, islands of white the last settlements of the souls sent to rest. The trees whispered about our presence to each other, waiting for the right time to strike. The dark having sealed a pack to share the bounty, we waited for that time to come.
 
What did you do little boy?
 
“We played heroes”
 
For hours we ran, our capes behind us, too quick for your human eyes to see. We sawed above the chimney tops and trees, looked down on the ants below. We could see forever from up there. People tell you it’s quiet in heaven. They’ve never flown through it at a million miles an hour. All the promises and “I love you”’s kept there like a library, each one kept in a labelled bottle. Every angel privy to their own joys and never-ending endings. They hunch over the scenes on their knees, admiring as the lost do over their last meaningful possession before selling it to pay their way, drinking in every detail, sculpting it to memory. Like the hearts in the sand and the shapes of love in trees, they’ll fade soon.
 
We’ll all fade soon.

 

There are Ghosts in this Town

There are ghosts in this town, I swear it

There are roads I can’t see down, there are streets I wish I couldn’t.

There aren’t any eyes to see any more, the faces too heavy to lift.

The carrion’s filling the air again, the smell is catching my lungs.

This sulphurous vapour is stinging my eyes, there’s blood when I cough up the smog.

It’s safer inside my cage these nights, the monsters look so real.

My words are slurred, my thoughts are drugged

There are ghosts in this town, I swear it

All the Things you Never Knew

theres a vast empty world inside me tonight.

theres a million different masks on strangers, all trying to pretend they have the answer to make the screaming stop. sow the promises on my lips and go out with a smile.

theres a dead man still in the corner of my room. if anyone knew how long he'd been there, they'd start to talk.

theres a piece missing of me somewhere round here. i've wondered for a long time when it fell out.

theres no way out this time.

theres a smile i give you when you let it show you dont know me at all. the boy inside runs and hides again when i let it out for a ride. he knows what it means

theres a deafening when i'm on my own.

theres tears streaming from my bloodshot orbs when i'm pretending i dont see you.

theres so much i wish you saw when i'm trying so hard to avoid you.

I hate it when you make me Beg

I hate the way you make me feel dirty
I hate it when you have this power
I hate it when I let you
I hate it when you make the longing harder
I hate it when you make it a guilty secret
I hate it when you make me hide this from you
I hate the fact you don’t “get it”
I hate the way you revel in your grip
I hate it that you don’t have this need
I hate the petulant boy you make me feel like
I hate the rush I want from you
I hate the fact you know all this
I hate the games I hide this with
I hate my want for it
I hate the contortions I throw myself into
I hate the throne I put you on
I hate it when you make me beg

Naomi's Ode
of all the seraphim that hold your soul aloft
    none can compare to the beauty you exude.
to those you consider dear, we are blessed,
    for nothing defines the merit of ones heart
like the presence of an angel in their eyes

 

 

 

 

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